<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>the good old days by waveridden</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30118902">the good old days</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/waveridden/pseuds/waveridden'>waveridden</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Blaseball (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blaseball Season 13 - The Expansion Era: Home Free, Gen, Tokyo Lift (Blaseball Team)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 01:33:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,269</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30118902</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/waveridden/pseuds/waveridden</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“We haven’t done anything together in a while.”</p><p>“I’m mad at you,” Silvaire says dryly. “I don’t know if you remember.”</p><p>Silvaire, Val, three museums, a bet, and a heist that doesn't happen.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Val Hitherto &amp; Silvaire Semiquaver</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>the good old days</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluealliance/gifts">bluealliance</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was a charity commission for bluealliance, who wanted something about Silvaire and Val spending time together. This was super fun to write, thank you!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They’re between games in Boston when Val says, apropos of nothing, “We should go out.”</p><p>Silvaire quirks an eyebrow at him. “Why would I do that?”</p><p>“Don’t you mean we?”</p><p>“I mean myself, Hitherto. You can do whatever you’d like, but I’ll need a reason to come with you.”</p><p>Val wrinkles his nose. “Don’t tell me you need me to convince you.”</p><p>She hums, not quite looking at him. Val knows that she’s serious, just like she knows he’s about to do some car-salesman pitch to get her to spend time with him. It’s a familiar push-and-pull, and she’s not planning on being pulled today.</p><p>Still, he rolls his neck like he’s warming up for a fight. When he’s settled, he looks at her square on, Hitherto charm in full force. “We haven’t done anything together in a while.”</p><p>“I’m mad at you,” Silvaire says dryly. “I don’t know if you remember.”</p><p>“Bygones can be bygones.”</p><p>“I decide when the bygones have gone by.”</p><p>“Point,” Val concedes, “but Boston has some lovely museums, and it would be a shame not to… take advantage of the opportunities.”</p><p>That’s enough to pique her interest. “What opportunities?”</p><p>Val smiles. “Perusing,” he chirps, and Silvaire knows exactly what that means. Even if she hasn’t seen him in a while, even if she hoped for a while that she’d never see him again, she can still read him like a book. “Call it research.”</p><p>“Only research? You think we can’t get anything done tonight?”</p><p>“In our time apart—” Val presses a hand to his chest, earnest and wide-eyed and entirely untrustworthy “—I’ve learned some restraint, Silvaire. I would think that you had too.”</p><p>“I’m not the one of us who needs restraint,” Silvaire answers, but she can feel herself caving in. “Restraint is just a word for someone who’s lost their touch.”</p><p>“I haven’t lost a thing.”</p><p>“Care to prove it?”</p><p>Val smiles, and Silvaire realizes a second too late that she’s fallen directly into his trap. Maybe she’s getting rusty. “And how would you like to do that?”</p><p>Silvaire lets out a breath. She lifts her hand to fiddle absently with her bracelet, thinking it over. “Let me make you a deal. We can go to a museum or two. You have to steal something, to prove that you still can.”</p><p>“I still can,” Val interjects.</p><p>“And I have to show restraint,” she continues. “So I won’t steal anything. And you’ll pay for dinner.”</p><p>“Loser pays for dinner.”</p><p>“That’s what I said.”</p><p>Val grins at her, bright and not as sharp as she would expect. It’s enough to remind her of old times, when blaseball was a myth, when she trusted Val with her life, when it was just the two of them gallivanting through time and shadows stealing whatever they liked.</p><p>“Well, then,” he says, “it sounds like we have a wager.”</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>#</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>The worst part is that it’s easy.</p><p>It would be better if she could hate Val. It would be better if they had some kind of horrid, fraught relationship that none of their teammates felt comfortable asking about. It would be better if she had stepped out of the shadows — not the literal shadows but the blaseball shadows, something she hadn’t been able to escape for once — and he had hated her for hating him.</p><p>She’d never been fully able to let him go, of course. Some things are a part of you forever. He’d given her a bracelet years ago; she’s still not sure if it was stolen or an actual gift, but she still wears it. It’s not her typical style, a delicate rose gold chain, but it meant something. Herself, shackled to Val, or perhaps the other way around.</p><p>Even when he’d betrayed her trust, even when she’d despised him, she hadn’t taken the bracelet off. She didn’t know how to move her hands without the weight of it. He’d noticed, had stared at it as she stepped out of the shadows, but he hadn’t asked. Still hasn’t asked. They haven’t asked each other about a lot of things.</p><p>Still, it was easy to fall back into a rhythm. They spend team practices making jokes, references to years that haven’t happened yet and years so old that nobody else can remember. They can have conversations, like no time has passed at all.</p><p>Even with Silvaire resisting every step of the way, she thinks that Val is her best friend again. That’s the thing about loving someone. It’s muscle memory, habit just as much as choice.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>#</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>The first museum they go to is contemporary art, which Silvaire has to assume Val chose specifically to spite her. She was never a fan of this art style, a little too garish, but Val’s at home here. He probably knows exactly what’s worth stealing.</p><p>They do the tourist thing first, of course they do. They’re art thieves first, these days — or, well, blaseball players first and art thieves second — but they were artists when they met one another. They always understood each other’s reverence for art. The larceny has always been rooted in respect. Even if Silvaire doesn’t respect contemporary art.</p><p>So they wander through the museum, jostling elbows and pointing at art. Val keeps pointing at increasingly garish paintings, and Silvaire would think that he’s messing with her if she didn’t know that he actually does love that kind of thing.</p><p>Eventually they get to the sculptures, and that’s where Silvaire’s work begins. Both of them gravitate towards paintings, but to steal from somewhere that they haven’t had the chance to case in detail, it’s much easier to grab a sculpture or a trinket.</p><p>They’re in some kind of futuristic exhibition when Silvaire finds the most likely target: a square little sculpture made of metal. Judging by the way Val’s shoulders straighten, he’s spotted it too.</p><p>Silvaire immediately goes over to the closest docent. “Excuse me,” she says, as tourist-polite as she can manage. “I was, um, I was wondering about that sculpture? Could you tell me about it?”</p><p>The docent brightens immediately, probably excited to actually talk about art instead of just standing there. They head over towards the sculpture, already talking about something or another that she doesn’t bother listening to.</p><p>Val shoots her a dirty look. Silvaire gives him her most beatific smile before going back to fake-tourist mode.</p><p>The thing about knowing Val is that she knows how to absolutely ruin his day. She gets docents to talk to him. She speaks too loudly in quiet rooms so people stare. She even convinces a family that Val is the artist of one of the pieces, although that’s less about stopping him from stealing and more about her own personal entertainment.</p><p>After that last one, when the conversation ends, he shoots her a dirty look. “Having fun?”</p><p>“Aren’t you?” Silvaire says innocently. “All I have to do is get in your way, that’s perfectly fun for me.”</p><p>Val rolls his eyes. “Let’s go on to our next museum, shall we?”</p><p>“We should go to a science museum.”</p><p>“Why’s that?”</p><p>“A change of pace.”</p><p>“This isn’t enough of a change of pace for you?” Val says dryly. Silvaire holds out her arm, and Val takes it, shaking his head. “I’ll give you directions. I know where to go.”</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>#</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>The second museum, because Val is an insufferable bastard, isn’t a science museum. It’s an art museum with an exhibit on tapestries.</p><p>“You’re tormenting me,” Silvaire says mournfully. “I want every one of these.”</p><p>“I’m sure they have replicas in the gift shop,” Val says placatingly. She makes an undignified face at him, but he only shrugs. “We have more nights in Boston, you know. Just because we made a bet today doesn’t mean we have to leave empty handed.”</p><p>Silvaire mulls that over for a second. It’ll mean more time with Val, but she’s starting to recognize that’s hardly the worst thing in the world. Especially if he helps her decorate her apartment with paintings and tapestries.</p><p>“Maybe,” she says at last, which he has to know is as good as a yes. “Come on, do your part, try and tempt me.”</p><p>And Val does try to tempt her. He points to small trinkets and tapestries, little bits of metalwork that would be so easy to slip into her purse. He points out security cameras and pressure sensors that she knows how to disable. He distracts security guards. He makes scenes in other rooms so Silvaire has the perfect chance to steal things in broad daylight.</p><p>She hates him. She really, truly loathes him.</p><p>“Just like old times,” Val says, after the fifth time he strands Silvaire with something that would look just perfect as a bookend, or a gaudy piece of decoration. “Remember old times?”</p><p>“I remember you being less insufferable,” Silvaire says sourly. “And I’m sure you had the chance to grab something while you were gone.”</p><p>“Nothing,” Val says, and— hm. He’s not lying, she can tell. “This was about tempting you, not tempting me.”</p><p>“Nothing?”</p><p>“None at all.”</p><p>She narrows her eyes. Val just blinks at her, the very picture of someone who hasn’t been robbing an art museum blind.</p><p>“Does stealing from the gift shop count?” she asks after a moment. “I do love some of these tapestries.”</p><p>Val wrinkles his nose. “Have some standards. I’d rather win the bet because you caved in than lose it because you stole a gift shop replica instead.”</p><p>“Your support means worlds, as always,” Silvaire mutters, and he grins at her, sharp and still warm.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>#</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>They only have time for one more museum: a small one off the beaten path, one that’s more for locals than tourists.</p><p>“There’s nothing good here,” Silvaire says suspiciously. “You must know that.”</p><p>Val shrugs. “Maybe not,” he says, and there’s something in his voice that she wants to tease apart, some little note that she can’t quite parse. “Let’s look anyways.”</p><p>They don’t speak to one another the whole time they’re in the museum. It’s historical, the kind of thing where everything is a little ugly but impeccably preserved, a place for everything and everything in its place. Val points out trinkets and Silvaire points out the wallpaper and they don’t say a word. They don’t have to.</p><p>Val doesn’t say he missed her. Silvaire doesn’t say she missed him. They leave the museum in silence and move on and it is, she thinks, exactly what she needed from today.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>#</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Silvaire waits through dinner — at an appallingly nice restaurant that she insisted on, because she won’t be paying — to say, “You lost.”</p><p>Val smiles. “Did I?”</p><p>“You didn’t get anything from any of the museums.”</p><p>“We didn’t say it had to be from the museums.”</p><p>Silvaire frowns. “Picking pockets doesn’t count.”</p><p>“Doesn’t it?” Val flicks his wrist, and she realizes he’s holding something. A rose gold chain. The bracelet he’d given her, a long time ago. “I don’t think this was in your pocket, but—”</p><p>“When?”</p><p>“On the way out of the first museum.” His brows furrow. “You didn’t notice?”</p><p>Silvaire should’ve noticed. She hasn’t taken that bracelet off since the day she got it. Maybe she’s actually losing her touch.</p><p>Or maybe she was too busy being with Val to bother with a memento of him.</p><p>“Good catch,” she says at last. Val’s not quite smiling yet, so she adds, “I’d like that back now.”</p><p>He doesn’t hand it over. “Why did you keep it?”</p><p>“It’s expensive,” Silvaire lies. “Come on.”</p><p>Slowly, Val reaches out, bracelet dangling from his fingertips. Silvaire reaches out, but he stops just short of handing her the bracelet. “Do you miss it?”</p><p>She could lie. She could get caught up in clarifying questions — does she miss making art, does she miss the days before blaseball, does she miss him. The answer’s the same no matter what. “Yes,” she says simply.</p><p>Val drops the bracelet into her waiting palm. Silvaire pulls her hand back and undoes the clasp, fastening it back on her opposite wrist in a practiced motion. Val doesn’t say anything as he watches.</p><p>Silvaire lifts her hand to inspect it. It’s still in perfect condition, back exactly where it belongs. “Where’d you get this, anyways?”</p><p>He huffs out a surprised laugh. “I never told you?”</p><p>“I didn’t ask.” She pauses. “Until now.”</p><p>Val smiles. “I stole it,” he says, and it’s only because she’s an expert in his body language and every shift in his eyes that she knows he’s lying. “It was just a little thing I thought you might like, so I took it. Not a big deal.”</p><p>“It’s a nice little trinket,” Silvaire says. A smile flickers across Val’s face, there and gone, small and pleased. She has to hope that he understands what she’s not saying here. “I guess you win the bet.”</p><p>“You don’t have to sound so upset about it,” Val says mildly. “I’m still paying for dinner. It’s only fair.”</p><p>“Fair’s following the rules.”</p><p>He barks out a laugh at that, the kind of loud, harsh noise that makes people turn and look at them. Silvaire barely notices, and Val doesn’t seem to care at all. “Rules are for people with no imagination. Let’s make plans for tomorrow, I have my eye on one of those tapestries too.”</p><p>“I get first dibs on the—”</p><p>He sighs, put-upon. “Of course you do,” he says, and Silvaire can feel the cracks in her heart slowly, cautiously begin to stitch themselves together again.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>#</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>She steals his watch in the cab home. Fair’s fair. He’ll steal it back tomorrow anyways.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm @waveridden on Tumblr, Twitter, and occasionally in maincord - come say hi!</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>